Page 6 of Pucks and Books
A certain bookshop owner had me tossing and turning all night.
“Fuck!” he spits as he swats the puck out from behind him and down the length of the ice. He skates toward the bench, leaning on the boards and downing a whole bottle of Gatorade. I skate around the goal, ignoring his groaning as I play with the puck. Picking it up, tapping it on one side of my blade and then the other, before lifting the puck up and over my shoulder to my skate. I kick it up and then swat it back into the goal. I haul ass for another puck, repeating the move, over and over, until I can’t miss unless I try.
Man, I love hockey.
I love the feel of a stick in my gloves, how my skates crunch against the ice, and the way my legs burn when I dig in, skating hard. I love how my nose gets cold even though I’m sweating buckets. I love the sounds of stick to puck, the crack, the slap, and then the reward of the goal horn when I score. I fucking love this sport. Everything about it. And I don’t care that sometimes the sport doesn’t love me, because I love it enough for both of us.
And I will succeed.
Nothing will get in my way.
Nothing can distract me from my goals.
Not even a cute bookshop owner with an ass shaped like a heart. When I see Cruz skating back toward me, his helmet up and his face red from exhaustion, I try not to laugh at him. He looks pathetic, but he was aware we had a planned workout this morning. One thing I don’t miss is my workouts, and he knows that. His dark eyes are red from no sleep, and he looks like he’s gonna puke, but I feel no pity for him. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”
Cruz doesn’t even meet my gaze. “Kiss my ass, Carter.” I snort at that, and he lowers his helmet. “But you’re right, and I’m gonna do better.”
I shrug as I move the puck back and forth. “One of the main goalies could get hurt, and they’d need you. Or you could be scouted by another team. You gotta be on your A game, Cruz.”
He exhales hard, setting up before rolling his shoulders.
“They’re always watching,” I remind him.
I expect him to cuss at me, but instead, he says, “I know. You’re right.”
That surprises me because he has been a bit out of control lately. His confidence took a hit when he didn’t get chosen for the second spot on the Assassins. In my opinion, he was better than Gratzelle, the backup they selected instead, but I am biased. He’s my closest friend, and I know his potential. He is NHL material, just as I am. “Was it worth it?”
“The drinking, no. The hookup, fuck yes.” His grin is unstoppable, and I know he had a good time—which is cool, he deserves it—but without the drinking, for sure. “She was a freak. She had me screaming her name, and I never scream a girl’s name.”
Freak. Within seconds, images of Lou on her knees with her toes curled up under her sweetheart of an ass come to mind. I wish I had taken a picture. Her, in all her beautiful glory, on her knees in front of all those books… Fuck me. The way her hair fell along her shoulders, how she smelled of roses and lavender. How I would do anything to run my tongue over the curve of the roll along her back. Shit, within seconds, it becomes mighty tight in my girdle, and I groan inwardly. I usually head to the bookshop after my morning workout, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I haven’t done much but think of the Dirty Pages owner and all her dirty desires that I would gladly jump at the opportunity to fulfill. But I can’t. She’s a distraction I can’t afford right now.
I have way too much going on to get involved with someone.
And from what she said, she may want to be fucked, but she also wants to be worshipped, and to worship her would mean to open myself up to emotions I’ve done a damn good job of holding back. It wouldn’t be hard to worship her. I’d fall to my knees so fucking quickly for her, and I’d enjoy doing so, but at what cost? My heart isn’t available for anything but hockey. I learned the hard way what it means to love a person, and I won’t do it again. Been there, done that, and I have no desire to do it again.
In all honesty, I should stay clear of the bookshop, just take Cruz’s taunting, yet I enjoy my time in the shop. I get a coffee down the road, and I just relax. I can resist the desire to give Lou what she wants; I know I can. I’m there for the books. That’s it.
Maybe if I say that a few more times, I’ll start believing my own thoughts.
When Cruz is ready, I line up and shoot, getting the puck past him with ease. As he cusses, I grab another puck, but before I can send it to the back of the net, I can’t help but think of Lou.
And how, while I know I can resist her, I don’t know if I want to.
CHAPTER 5
Louisa
“Who wants to go see Austen this weekend!”
At my sister’s words, I glance up from where I’m tearing apart my pomegranate-orange muffin before stuffing a piece into my mouth. I am ignoring the fact that this coffee shop has these as a special, and I’m also ignoring the fact that I wanted to get one for hot reader guy. I feel that would have been a little over the top and stalkerish. Instead, I focus on my sister Elliot, who is the one suggesting going to Nashville to see Austen. It’s been a month since we last saw her, and we make it a point never to go longer than that without seeing one another.
Elliot sits with her legs crossed up underneath her, but she leans back in her chair with her mug up by her lips. She is stunning with her long chestnut-brown locks and bright, hazel-blue eyes. She’s wearing a pair of biker shorts and an oversized bright-orange Knoxville Bears shirt. She was hired by our peepaw to work for the Bears as their social media adviser, and because of that, my sister is always wearing her Bears gear. I haven’t even tried on any of mine. I’m only wearing orange if I go to jail.
Not that I plan on going…unless it’s because I’ve gotten railed in public.
By hot reader guy.
God…I am crazy.